


learning to make the world stand still

by 1000_directions



Series: winterhawk punks in love [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Blankets, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Bucky woke up sweet and slow this morning, sun hitting his face just right to coax him awake. And he rolled onto his side, and Clint was just there, breathing quietly in his sleep. And the morning light illuminated every freckle on his face, and Bucky felt so suddenly, uncontrollably in love that he didn’t know what to do with himself.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: winterhawk punks in love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589425
Comments: 13
Kudos: 141





	learning to make the world stand still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tintedglasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tintedglasses/gifts).



> this was written in about forty minutes based on a prompt from anna. thank you, anna! it's set in the winterhawk punks in love universe, early in their relationship. the title of the gdoc was "snugglepunks." thank you for sprinting with me, cb 💚
> 
> please note the fourth paragraph contains an extremely brief mention of past suicidal ideation.

Bucky is having an okay day.

It’s nothing to write home about. Nothing mind-blowing. But when he woke up, Clint was in bed beside him, and it was nice. Clint isn’t always there, because they don’t sleep together every night. And it isn’t always nice, because sometimes Bucky gets freaked out when he feels another body next to his unexpectedly. But he woke up sweet and slow this morning, sun hitting his face just right to coax him awake. And he rolled onto his side, and Clint was just there, breathing quietly in his sleep. And the morning light illuminated every freckle on his face, and Bucky felt so suddenly, uncontrollably in love that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

They don’t talk about being in love. This is still new. But Bucky felt it in his bones, like a certainty. It’s scary, but it’s okay. It’s good to be scared sometimes. It means he’s growing.

Bucky went to therapy today, filled out the usual forms in the waiting room before his appointment. Bubbled in the little oval next to “I don’t have any thoughts of killing myself,” which still feels like a victory every goddamn time after a whole year of “I have thoughts of killing myself, but I would not carry them out.” He is stronger than he used to be. He’s getting _better_.

On the way home, he stopped on a whim to get bagels and scones from a cafe across the street from the VA. Bucky doesn’t always feel comfortable going to new places, especially if he doesn’t have time to scope them out in advance, make sure that they’re not going to be threatening. But he remembered Clint and Sam talking about the place, and he trusts them, and he wanted to do something nice for Clint. So he did, and it was _fine_. And it’s probably stupid to be so proud of himself for something so small, but he feels proud anyway, and no one can stop him from feeling that way.

And now he’s finally home, cradling the paper bag under his chin as he turns the key in the lock and jiggles it before shoving the door open with his hip.

“It’s me,” he calls out as he steps inside and toes off his shoes by the door. He doesn’t know if anyone’s home, and it’s weird to announce himself. He doesn’t go out much. He’s usually the one waiting. The one who jerks in shock at the sound of a door opening. The one who has to squeeze his eyes shut and catch his breath before forcing a smile onto his face to greet whoever has arrived.

He pushes open the door to his room. The bulb is turned off, but light sneaks in from the crack between his makeshift curtains (it’s amazing what you can accomplish with sheets, a stapler, and the spirit of ingenuity that comes from being broke as fuck). It’s dim, but Bucky can still see that there is a lump in the middle of his bed. A Clint-shaped lump.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly. He gets an answering grunt from somewhere in the pile of blankets. “You okay, babe?” No response this time, and his heart twists uncomfortably in his chest. He’s not good at being the reassuring, comforting one. That’s what Clint does for him, but Bucky’s still learning how to fill that role.

But he’s doing well today. He’s the best version of himself he’s been in a while, for whatever that’s worth. He can be strong for Clint, if that’s what he needs.

“Can I come in?” he asks gently. Clint doesn’t answer, but a few seconds later, a hand wiggles its way out from the burrow and flips one of the blankets aside, making a small opening.

An invitation.

Bucky carefully sinks onto the bed beside Clint. He moves slowly, letting Clint get used to his nearness. Giving him time to change his mind. But Clint doesn’t move at all as Bucky peels back the blankets and slips in beside him. It’s warm under all the blankets, stifling and a little damp. But still, he tucks them in, together. Cocooned inside, with the world kept at bay. And that’s when Clint rolls onto his other side, snuggling right up against Bucky’s body. And Bucky wraps his arm around Clint’s body and holds him, presses his lips to Clint’s sweaty forehead.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Clint says hesitantly, and Bucky kisses his flushed skin.

“We don’t have to talk about anything,” he says. “Not a single word.”

“Hold my hand,” Clint murmurs, and Bucky obeys easily, unslinging his arm from Clint’s back, finding Clint’s hand in the space between their bodies and tangling their fingers together.

Clint gives him a soft, long squeeze, and Bucky lets his eyes fall shut. He doesn’t know what Clint needs, doesn’t know if there’s one damn thing in this world that he can do that would make a difference anyway. But he can be here.

“I got you a scone,” he remembers a few minutes later. “From that place you like by the VA. I could go grab it for you.”

“You hate crumbs in the bed,” Clint says, and he does, he absolutely fucking does, but….

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, his lips still brushing Clint’s forehead, muffling his words slightly. It’s fine. They can have a snack in bed, and then they can do the laundry together. Clint will use his trick quarter to cheat the ancient machine in the basement into washing their shit for free, and then he’ll sit on the washer while Bucky desperately tries to remember jokes and funny stories to make him smile. And when Clint laughs, when Bucky _makes_ him laugh, the whole world will feel drenched in possibility, absolutely teeming with options.

“Later,” Clint murmurs. He gives Bucky’s hand another squeeze, then tips his chin up so his mouth brushes against Bucky’s. It’s not a kiss, not quite. But almost. It’s on the verge of a kiss, so intimate that Bucky can barely breathe. “Let’s just stay here for now, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky whispers, his lips just barely grazing Clint’s. “We can stay here for as long as you’d like.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/613529194622844928/title-learning-to-make-the-world-stand-still)


End file.
